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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
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Saint Valentine's Day rolls around just once a year. And if you've been married as long as I have, your chances for sex don't come much more often. 'There's always next year' is a fine mantra for a Cubs fan or a Libertarian, but not for a lover. So don't miss your amorous opportunity this time around -- heed the following Valentine's Day advice.
Nobody wants to hear the story of Saint Valentine
Simply put, any story that ends with a beheading is not going to get you laid. If you must tell a 'topical' story, try something from 'Penthouse Letters', instead. Much hotter, and the tales there almost never end in decapitations.
Let your partner tell you when it's time to see your underwear
Guys, I know she tells you she likes surprises. I know she wants you to be spontaneous. But greeting her at the door -- or, god forbid, at her office -- wearing nothing but a trenchcoat and a pair of edible undies is not helping anyone. Besides the fact that you look ridiculous, mid-February is still quite cold in many parts of the world. For your own sake, think of the 'shrinkage'.
Ladies... ignore this point altogether. We always want to see your underwear. Or, preferably, your lack thereof. You little vixens, you.
Don't eat the candy hearts
First of all, they taste like styrofoam ass. Chalky styrofoam ass. Who wants to eat chalky styrofoam ass? Nobody, that's who.
Also, remember that a candy approximately as dry as the Sahara will rob you of all the saliva you've managed to produce that week. And your kissy-faced schnookums isn't going to appreciate sucking on your parched, wrinkly tongue. It's not 'Saint French-The-Elderly Day', after all. I think that one's in September.
Finally, realize that the average number of candy hearts a person can eat without ralphing them back up is somewhere in the neighborhood of two. And while the irony of seeing a regurgitated 'I M N2 U!' in the toilet bowl is 'delicious', it is by no means 'romantic'.
Leave the poetry to the professional poets
I tell you this from personal experience. A few years ago, I decided that the best way to express my love was to write my wife a poem, raw and sexy and straight from the heart. Here are the words that ended the odd-numbered lines of said poem:
'rubies'
'ballantine'
'corndog'
'schmenitalia' (the point where I realized I was in over my head)
'blooper'
'labradoodle' (don't ask)
'Georgie'
'angina'
She made me sleep on the couch for a week. Don't go there. Just don't.
Don't give your sweetie an uber-religious greeting card
Yes, she'll be happy you remembered. Yes, it's the thought that counts. And yes, the picture on the front with a single ray of light shining through the stormclouds is certainly inspirational.
But nothing screams 'why don't we just cuddle tonight?' quite like a card containing the line:
'Blessed be our marital bed, shared in love with the bosom of Jesus.'
I'm all for a 'Valentine's threesome' -- particularly one involving bosoms -- but that's just a little too kinky. Steer clear.
If you don't buy your lover chocolate, don't explain why
It's perfectly acceptable to say:
'I bought you these [flowers / massage oils / sexy underpants / strippers] because you're beautiful and I love you.'
It's not acceptable to say:
'I didn't get you any chocolate, because I know you're dieting and I support your goal of being thinner.'
And it's definitely not a good idea to say:
'Besides, you want a gift that'll last for more than three minutes, and you won't cry about later, right?'
Again, personal experience. And another week sleeping on the couch. And yet another reason I'm not allowed to count sex as a 'present'.
Learn from my mistakes, budding Romeos and Juliets. Follow these tips, and you should be randily romancing your lover in no time. Ignore my advice, and... well, 'there's always next year'.
Aww... I always feel a little bit sorry for the poor saps who are clueless on Happy Hearts Day. I'm glad to hear you are being trained well.
Another suggestion: don't buy a woman struggling with her weight a thong. That's not even a gift for you, man.
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"Schmenitalia." Priceless.
Almost as priceless as having your ten-year-old daughter discover the as-yet-unused pair of Edible Panties the Missus has stashed in her nightstand. "Eeeeeewwwwwwww!"